


Let's Be Alone Together

by relic_amaranth



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, Gender-neutral Reader, M/M, Multi, Neighbors, Other, Reader-Insert, Strangers to Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 07:48:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17402915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relic_amaranth/pseuds/relic_amaranth
Summary: You get two new neighbors and the three of you become something more.





	Let's Be Alone Together

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Long [sob], fluff, swearing, timeskips, for a brief moment Reader is implied to not necessarily be straight, Reader is a sore loser
> 
> Special Note: Written for a challenge on Tumblr hosted by @barnesrogersvstheworld. Dialogue prompt: “I’m having some problems right now and I’d really like to be alone.” // “Well, I’ll be alone with you.”
> 
> A/N: This fucking story is Exhibit A in why I wish I didn’t handwrite everything first, oy vey. First: I’m very sorry for the length. It just…happened. When it comes to timeskips the single extra space is for those timeskips that aren’t too long (hours/days) and the solid lines are for time-jumps that are a week or more. Time is left purposefully vague to better suit the reader viewpoint. It is long for something without chapters, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

 

You keep to yourself. You stay out of other peoples’ business. It’s respectful, you reason, and not just due to the fact that you’d rather be left alone. …Though that’s a factor. ‘Do unto others,’ ‘treat others,’ and all that jazz.

However you do get curious when, in the hall on the way to your unit at the end, you see moving boxes stacked next to your only neighbor’s door. And who wouldn’t be curious– whoever lives there has the power to make your life a living hell and it has been blissfully empty for over a month. Unfortunately a glance in the open door reveals no one and you can’t think of a good reason to linger, so you go to your own apartment. You’ll see them around eventually.

 

And you do. There are two of them– Steve and James. They’re a cute couple, quiet (thank goodness), and seemingly friendly. Seemingly, because you keep just missing them, and they, you. If you’re going out then they’re coming in, and vice versa. You only know their names because you overheard them introducing themselves to someone else. You doubt they even know yours. It doesn’t really matter– they seem nice and happy and they keep to themselves and you have no complaints. As far as neighbors go, they’re five-star quality.

It’s funny, though, because after a while it becomes obvious that they’re _actively_ trying to meet you properly (well, Steve is,) but keep getting thwarted by circumstance.

Like one time when you’re getting your mail, Steve is down there getting his, but just as he opens his mouth to talk to you, someone else greets him and then starts chatting him up. You wait politely for a handful of seconds before you realize no tool short of a crowbar is going to pull that little old lady off of him, and you slip away as Steve shoots you an apologetic smile.

At another point you pass by James in the hallway. He’s in PJ pants, a hoodie, and gloves, and hesitates with his door already open. You’re not in any real hurry so you pause. He only gets to inhale when his phone starts ringing. _Loudly_. He huffs in annoyance. You give him a little wave, he nods, and you both go about your business.

The next time you see them you’re on your cell and rushing out of your apartment due to a work emergency.

The time after that _you’re_ coming home and _they're_ speeding out– walking, but doing it so intently it looks like they’re barely keeping themselves from sprinting. That proves true when they hit the stairwell and you hear them race down the stairs as they start to beat feet.

It’s okay. Introducing yourself to your neighbors is always hit-or-miss anyways– some people do and some people don’t and you don’t mind either way. So as far as you care, it’s a wash.

Your new neighbors are stubborn, though. One night you come home late, drained by an early start and too much overtime after, and it’s all you can do to drop yourself onto the couch. Just as you’re ready to pass out, someone knocks. And knocks again.

You groan. “Sorry whoever you are,” you mumble. “But I am _not_ getting up.”

Miraculously, the knocking stops and you leave consciousness shortly thereafter. It’s only when you wake up the next morning that you suddenly realize nobody buzzed, which means it was somebody who was already in the building, which means it was likely your next-door neighbor, who probably waited until you got home, and who probably thought that you had actively ignored him.

Shit. You rub the bridge of your nose and force yourself up. Before you shower or change your clothes or otherwise do anything, you sit down and write out a short apology note, because while you don’t care to make friends, you don’t want them to think you’re a total dick. You go to leave it at their door, only to be brought up short at your own.

Sitting on the ground is a little gift package from a local coffee shop, filled with different types of coffee and a mug with their logo on it. You pick up the cellophane-wrapped basket and flip open the small card on the front.

> ‘ _Sorry we keep missing you! Hopefully we’ll meet someday. For now, accept these with our tentative apologies. We’re both night owls but we do our best.  
>  Until we meet for real,  
>  Your new neighbors.’_

You smile at the words, a cartoon happy face, and the two different signatures. You could have sworn it was the new neighbors who were supposed to get gifts. And, actually– that’s not a bad idea.

It is incredibly early in the morning, but you know that shop is open. You slip on something more comfortable than your wrinkled work clothes, make a quick dash out, and you return with breakfast for yourself and a small basket of assorted treats for your neighbors. On the tiny card that came with it you write _‘Welcome to the neighborhood!’_ , place your apology note right behind it, and go home to give yourself a nice morning.

You don’t actually meet one of them for at least another week.

 

* * *

 

A shitty day has been topped off by an even shittier date and all you want is to crawl into bed and ignore the headache that is slowly but strongly coming on. This plan is currently being thwarted by your inability to find your keys– and in your haste to get at them, your bag containing your leftovers topples to the ground. And that just fucking figures. You lean your back against the wall and as the encroaching pain suddenly barrels in, you sink down to sit and pull your knees up for a place to rest your head.

You don’t even get a full minute of peace before the neighbors’ door opens, and flicking your eyes over reveals the hem of blue pajama pants and bare feet pointed in your direction. Is this seriously how this is going to happen?

“Are you all right?”

Yep. Fucking _great_.

“No offense, but–” You rub your temples. “I’m having some problems right now and I’d really like to be alone.”

He’s quiet. But then he sits down next to you. “Well, I’ll be alone with you.”

The only reason you don’t glare at him is because it would hurt. He fidgets. “If you just don’t want to see a doctor, I know some basic first aid.”

First aid? What is he–

You laugh. Your head is pounding but he’s so sincerely sweet you can’t help but be amused. “Thanks, but it’s– I’m not hurt.” You wave your hand flippantly, because that’s all this warrants, really, no matter how dramatic you want to be. “Bad day and bad headache and bad circumstances. Thanks, but I’ll be okay.”

He seems to relax on that front, but he doesn’t leave. In fact, he clears his throat. “I’m Steve Rogers. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

You tell him your name and stick your hand in his general direction. His grip is gentle. “I’ve heard you introduce yourself to other people so I kind of already knew your name,” you admit. “Your boyfriend’s name is James, right?”

He’s silent and you look up. He’s frowning. Your stomach drops. “Shit; are you not out?” On one hand, it’s hard to ‘no homo’ a mouth-on-mouth kiss that happened right by the elevators. On the other hand, this is a very quiet floor and that was an odd hour. Maybe they just–

“No, no, we are, it’s just–” Steve clears his throat. “We weren’t. For a long time. So it’s still new and…nice when someone else says it.”

“Oh.” You smile. “I get that.”

He looks curious but your head resonates with a jolt of pain and you grimace. He chuckles. “Right, you have a headache. Um…” A jingling sound simultaneously delights and hurts you. He holds up your keys. “These might help.”

“No doubt.” You take the keys and allow him to help you up. In the time it takes you to unlock the door, he’s gathered up all the other stuff you dropped, including the bag of Styrofoam and food.

“Sorry, but I don’t think your leftovers made it,” Steve says and hands it to you.

“It’s okay. It wasn’t that good anyway.” You take your things. “Thanks. Goodnight.”

“Take some aspirin.”

“Sure, mom,” you say and roll your eyes. You cringe– even _that_ hurts.

“Serves you right,” Steve says. Smug bastard. You flip him off and shut the door on his laughter.

 

* * *

 

You’re both friendly, but go back to passing each other at odd and inconvenient times. However you always give a smile or a wave or a nod, and Steve and James return the gestures in kind.

One day, though, you’re coming down the hall and you see someone sitting on the floor near your apartment. Or Steve’s. You can’t tell yet.

As you get closer, you recognize James, sitting in the space between your doors and so curled up he looks impossibly small for such an ordinarily large guy. He looks up as you approach and grunts a low greeting.

“Hey. Is everything okay?” you ask and glance at the door. Are they fighting?

“I forgot my key.”

The way he mumbles it makes it sound like he’s _pouting_ and you clamp down on a laugh too late– it sounds like a snort. He looks at you and yes, he _is_ pouting.

“Sorry, sorry.” You clear your throat. “One of the girls is still at the front desk.”

He shakes his head. “I’m just gonna wait for Steve. Thanks.”

He goes back to…brooding. Or staring at the wall until it moves. Or watching an intense movie in his mind. Or counting particles in the air with utmost focus. Whatever it is, he’s so into it that your obvious hesitation goes ignored.

You shuffle into your apartment and move slow. You don’t know why– the hallway is utterly benign. So harmless that even you were recently content to sit out there just because you didn’t want to deal with anything. But now you’re realizing why Steve stopped for you– it’s kind of sad.

You take a look around the living room for any ideas. Your eyes catch on a pack of cards just hanging out on a shelf. Perfect. You grab it, wipe the dust off on your pants, and go back into the hallway.

James is staring at the floor now and he doesn’t look up, not even when you sit in front of him. He _does_ lift his head when you start dealing, though he doesn’t say anything. Not until after you settle down, pick up your hand, and ask him, “Got any fives?”

James sits and just blinks. You _think_ you see a hint of a smile, but if it’s there then it’s gone just as fast. However he does pick up his hand and looks it over. “…Go fish.”

The game goes on and you’re almost at the end of it when Steve finally shows up. Apparently James hadn’t called him, given the absolute confusion in his voice when he says, “Bucky?” (Which– _Bucky_?)

“Shh,” James says and waves him off.

You scan your hand. You’re close but James is closer (because he’s a fucking _cheater_ ), and you can only take a wild stab in the dark. “Got any twos?”

James grins. “Go fish.”

You swear up and down James’s rotten lineage as you pull another card. A four. If that rat bastard–

“Got any fours?”

You throw the card at his face. He laughs and puts down his hand– two fucking fours, of _course_ – and you aim your scowl at Steve because James has been utterly immune. From the way Steve’s smiling, he is too. “Your boyfriend is a fucking _cheat_.”

“Who do you think I learned it from?” James chuckles. He finishes putting the cards away, and stands and extends his hand to you. You take it. Begrudgingly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve says and looks away.

“Both of you need to leave; this building has no room for people who cheat at cards,” you say.

James snorts. “But it has room for a feared international assassin?”

You’re not sure if the hyperbole is based on something (Steve is incredibly popular and probably gets a lot of good gossip) but you feign serious consideration for the question nonetheless. “Still a better person than a cheater.”

James blinks. Steve hurries to grab him and tells you “Good night!” before all but dragging his boyfriend into their apartment.

 

An hour later, you’re just about settled in when someone knocks. You sigh but get up to see who and what and _why_. You’re not terribly surprised to see James, but you do give Steve an extra look over. He’s staring at the floor, head hunched in between his shoulders.

“Steve was telling me that you don’t know who we are,” James says.

“Should I?” you ask.

James nods and– almost monotonously– tells you about Steve being Steve Rogers as in Captain America and he himself being James Barnes as in Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes who was thought dead in World War II but captured by–

You know the story. Vaguely, but only people who live under rocks could have entirely missed the story of an American hero turned brainwashed assassin that played _ad nauseum_ for _months_ , and while you may not have recognized them, you know the basics. It’s a very sad story, and though James tries to tell it as blandly as possible, he can’t lift his head to look at you. By contrast, you can _feel_ Steve staring at you.

At the end of it James goes silent and awaits your judgment. Sure, it’s surprising you live next to _Captain America_ and _Sergeant Barnes_ , but you’re not sure why James looks like he’s waiting for you to drop the guillotine.

“I hope you don’t think this gets you out of a rematch,” you say. James’s head snaps up and Steve lets out a startled little laugh. You stay focused on the man right in front of you though, as he slowly relaxes. You shake your head. “No mercy. Not even for grandpas.”

Steve laughs harder and James hangs his head again, but this time while pinching the bridge of his nose. “Jesus _Christ_.”

“But yeah, it is good to know.” You flash them two thumbs up. “Nobody’s gonna, uh, try to wreck your apartment, are they?”

“No.” James quirks a smile. “Trust me; it’s more trouble than it’s worth.”

You’re not sure how that would stop idiots from _trying_ , but James’s smile is just on the edge of ‘terrifying,’ so you decide to trust him. “Okay.” You can’t think of anything else to say and turn to go back in. “Um…good night Steve, good night James.”

“Bucky.”

You stop and look at James. He’s scratching the back of his head. “If you don’t mind. James is for strangers. Bucky is for people I…know.”

“Okay. Night Steve, night Bucky,” you say and go back inside.

 

* * *

 

Steve and Bucky turn out to be pretty good neighbors. Steve is the kind of guy who _always_ says hi, and only nods if he has no other (polite) choice. Bucky is quieter, and only ever nods at you. Well, mostly.

“Wait–” Bucky practically dives to catch your bag of groceries just as the handle breaks and it falls towards the ground. He catches it, but his knees hit hard enough that _you_ wince.

“Oh– jeeze; Bucky!” you scold before you can help yourself. “Be careful; you’re going to hurt yourself if you do that!”

He stares at you. Right– active duty superhero. _However_.

“Thank you,” you say as he hands the bag to you. “But _I_ don’t want to be the reason your knees give out.”

Bucky starts to roll his eyes and abruptly stops, like he suddenly remembers he’s trying to be polite. “Don’t worry about me. I’m tougher than I look.”

You shrug, though you catch that there’s more to it than that. It seems rude to ask though, especially since he and Steve are public figures and it’s your own fault you don’t know much past the basics. _Is_ he as enhanced as Steve? You haven’t really considered that. If he’s exactly like Steve then yeah, it’s probably silly to worry about his knees. Still, that had sounded like it would hurt.

You figure you should probably do some research anyways; so you bid Bucky goodbye and go inside to put your stuff away and do some quick fact-checking online to give yourself some baseline understanding. So you don’t embarrass yourself again.

Your plan goes off the rails within the first ten minutes, and within the following twenty you can no longer take reading all the various think-pieces so you spend the rest of the evening letting out your frustration by writing angry letters you will never send. They range from general (“[…] _like SOME people who don’t understand the meaning of TORTURED and BRAINWASHED_ […]”) to more specific (“ _Dear Daily Bugle, How the FUCK are you still in business you trash rag I wouldn’t use you to light a fire if I was freezing to death_ […]”).

You groan and rub your face after what feels like hours. Actually, it has been hours; it’s obviously late and you forgot about dinner, so you decide you should probably eat now that the rage isn’t feeding you anymore.

You’re just stepping out of your apartment when Steve comes out of his at the same time. It’s a little late to get the mail, but you can’t imagine why else he’d be out in loungewear.

“Hey,” you say as you lock your door.

“Hi,” Steve says. “You’re out late.”

“Yeah. I got distracted doing…stuff.” You turn to face him. “I’m just going to grab some food.”

“Good. That’s…good,” Steve says. He doesn’t leave. He stands there. Facing you.

“Do you need something?” you ask.

“Not exactly. I have to tell you that…” Steve shifts. “The walls are _kind_ of thin, and Bucky and I have really good hearing, and, well…”

But he stops at that, and you cannot fathom what he’s getting at that makes him look like he wants to leap out of a window. “Okay, uh…was I making a lot of noise or–” Suddenly you remember all your angry muttering just minutes ago, next to the wall you _share_. “Oh. _GOD_.” You hide your face in your hands. “Oh god. Does Bucky like flowers? I need an apology bouquet; god, I am _so sorry_.”

“It’s okay; I’m sorry we could overhear– we have a friend coming to fix that as soon as he can– but Bucky, he uh…” Steve takes a moment. “He thinks you were cursing at him.”

That makes _no_ sense. To the point where you stop panicking so you can deconstruct that idea.

Nope. Still doesn’t make sense.

You lift your head and look at Steve. “Why would I be mad at Bucky for all the shit he has to wade through? I’m mad at the fucking blog writers and so-called “journalists” and commenters who are the absolute _worst_.”

Steve loses at least an inch of height when he exhales. “I _told_ Bucky you weren't mad at him.” Steve looks at his apartment. “I told you.”

The door is wide open and Bucky is leaning on one side of the frame, arms crossed, and eyes entirely fixed on you. “Yeah,” you say, once again realizing he probably listened to _everything_. “Not you; I was bitching about the people who have all the brain power of a worm.” You reconsider that, because really, what have worms ever done to you? “Never mind; that’s mean to worms.”

Bucky’s laugh is harsh and startled, and then he’s silent. You clear your throat. “Since it’s already awkward…do you like hugs?”

Bucky’s scrunched face says ‘no,’ but what comes out of his mouth is, “It’s complicated.”

Enough said. “That’s okay; then…air hug.” You open your arms wide and mimic a hug. A hug for a giant, but Bucky smiles so you guess the sentiment gets through.

“What if I said I didn’t like air hugs?” he says.

“Then it would have gone to Steve and become an air chokehold.” You jerk your thumb at Steve. “ _He_ could have come and knocked and told me, but no, he had to let me embarrass myself. Jerk.”

Both of them laugh and then look surprised about it. You roll your eyes– what is with them that they’re so shocked to find themselves laughing? Bucky never looks like that when Steve makes him smile, so it’s not like amusement is a completely foreign concept. Before you’re tempted to ask, though, your stomach interrupts with a timely growl. “Right. You two have a nice night; I’m going to stuff myself until I’m in too much pain to even know what embarrassment is.”

“I could pay for your dinner. To apologize,” Steve says.

“Nah, I’m good,” you say, wave, and get on your way. It’s much better to keep a grudge in this case– this way you can keep teasing them about it, and maybe someday you’ll make them laugh and they won’t be surprised by it.

 

The next day you’re out and about when you pass by a small flower shop and, well, why not? Flowers are nice and soft and you’re pretty sure Bucky isn’t sensitive to smell since that time someone stunk up the hallway with rotten seafood and he was the only one unaffected.

You walk right up to the counter and exchange greetings with the person behind it. “I’m looking for an apology bouquet. Something nice and classic; the guy I’m giving it to is…” You have no idea how to explain this situation and no desire to know what this person thinks of Bucky, so you end up finishing with, “Old. Very old.”

The florist smiles and nods, obviously well-versed in people who have absolutely no idea what they’re doing when it comes to flowers. After he shows you a few arrangements and you’re deciding between them, he tries to make small talk. “Is this for a grandparent?”

“Neighbor,” you say, not looking away from the two bunches you’re stuck on. “I was…accidentally inconsiderate, and he’s a nice guy, so I want to apologize.”

“I wish my neighbors would do that,” he says and sighs so forlornly you smile.

“Don’t we all,” you say, thinking back to past living arrangements. Steve and Bucky are quiet and kind. You hope they stay.

However when you have your pick and are up at the front paying for it (while also trying to ignore the price), the florist rifles behind the counter and comes out with temptation too great to resist. “This comes with a complimentary card. This is the normal one, but you mentioned your neighbor was older, so would this be better?”

There is the one small card that looks like it would fit the flowers fine. Next to it is an identical card except five times bigger and with a font that is easier to read.

You do your best not to smile like the sharks from “Finding Nemo” and tap on the bigger card. “This is perfect, thank you,” you say while you try to tell yourself, _‘fish are friends, not food; fish are friends, not food; fish are friends, not food; fish…friends…food…’_

You get sushi for lunch and go home with a spring in your step. When you get there, Bucky and Steve’s door is open, and stuff of the technological sort is piled around just outside it. You can barely hear them talking from somewhere inside, and you place the flower vase just outside their door. Hopefully they see it before they step on it.

You’re in the middle of cleaning the kitchen when you hear loud laughter in the hall. You ignore it at first but it keeps going…and going…and you hear Steve laugh in a relatively short burst. You slowly stop, and then go to your room and stand by your desk.

“Bucky, if you can hear me and you’re okay with texting…” You hesitate, but give him your number. You barely get the chance to feel like an idiot when your phone suddenly buzzes. You jump, because that was _fast_ , and pull it off the charger to see a text from an unfamiliar number that reads ‘???’.

You: Who’s the hyena?  
Bucky: lol  
Bucky: stark  
Bucky: by the way did i use lol right?  
Bucky: im pretty old, so i dont know

You laugh but glance at the door. Bucky and Steve are sort of in the public eye, but just out of it enough that you didn’t recognize them right away. Tony Stark, though, is a living spectacle– you’re shocked the guy can go _anywhere_ without a bunch of reporters getting underfoot. You are incredibly curious to see him in the flesh after years of tabloids and news reports and– you’re just _curious_ okay? But you’ve also reached your limit of ‘awkward’ for the day and without an actual reason to stick your head out, you’d just be assuring yourself embarrassment, so you shrug it off.

However when someone knocks and takes that choice away from you, all that previous curiosity flees and leaves you with only, “Ugh.”

Your phone buzzes.

Bucky: serves you right  
You: I’m taking back that air hug  
You: You’re both jerks

But you go and answer the door. Tony Stark with a bright, genuine smile looks so different from what you’ve seen before that you actually do a double-take. Steve is hovering behind him and smiles apologetically. You clear your throat. “Um…hi?”

“Hi, I’m Tony Stark and you are my new favorite person,” he says and shakes your hand like he’s on something.

“Don’t worry; he gets a new one every five minutes,” Steve says, unconcerned with his twitchy friend.

“Oh good. Being someone’s favorite person seems like a lot of pressure,” you say.

Tony then proceeds to talk, which is exhausting for you but somehow not so for him. When you find out he hasn’t slept in three days it makes more sense as to why he seems only slightly tweaked rather than full tilt. Eventually Steve manages to gently maneuver Tony back to what he was doing and you escape back into your home after a polite but very quickly given goodbye.

Steve comes by later to apologize for Tony and you all test out the soundproofing tech. They say it works great, which is a relief, and you assume that now the excitement has gone down, things will go back to a friendly-but-distant normal.

 

* * *

 

Except that they don’t get distant. In fact, even Bucky greets you with a word or few more often than not, and Steve…well, it’s hard to say since he’s always been nice, but you think he’s more genuine with you. And after a couple of weeks of observation you can say that for certain– Steve is always, always kind but he definitely has a face for strangers and a face for friends.

You almost drop your key when you realize that’s what you are– friends. New friends, but…

“Are you okay?”

You turn your head to see Steve leaning against the wall. “Hey. When did you get back?”

“Late last night.” Steve stands upright. “I was thinking…I never made it up to you for not telling you sooner about the walls, so I wanted to see if you would come to dinner with me and Bucky. You pick, I treat. It could double as a birthday dinner.”

You open your mouth to politely decline when you realize something. “When did I…I didn’t tell you when my birthday was.”

Steve looks down. “No. Uh…no. You didn’t.”

You take a deep breath. “So how do you know it’s today?”

Steve finds the floor very fascinating. “A friend of mine ran a background check. I’m so sorry; I didn’t tell her to but she, uh, she sort of does what she wants.”

“When did you find out about the background check?”

“Just this morning.” Steve lifts his head and flashes you a boyish smile and oof. “When she told me to wish you a happy birthday.”

You deflate but the irritation stays. Even though you logically know it’s not Steve’s fault. “Okay,” you say. “I will absolutely let you pay for me to eat my feelings.”

Steve smiles brightly. “Great! When and where?”

“Anytime after I change my clothes, and I’m thinking that burger place just down the block. I forget the name; by the stationery store.”

“The new place?”

You nod. “It smells good but it’s trendy as fuck and I wasn’t sure I wanted to pay for it. Enter: you.”

He laughs. “Okay then; I’ll talk to Bucky and find out if he’s up to it.”

“I could eat.”

You jump but Bucky just stands there, smirking, and Steve laughs. You put your hand to your chest. “I can’t believe you’re treating me like this on my _birthday_.”

“You weren't going to tell us it was your birthday,” Bucky accuses, which takes you back a bit, because were you supposed to?

“Well, no, but now that it’s out I’m going to take full advantage,” you say. “Gimme a few to change out of my work clothes and I’ll be ready. You just…hang out or powder your noses or something.”

“Bossy,” Bucky says.

“It’s my birthday,” you say imperiously and slip into your apartment while they laugh.

You’re fast becoming fond of the sound.

 

Dinner is great and Steve insists on stopping to get a cake, which you all take back to their apartment to eat. Bucky pulls out a pack of cards and you play “Go Fish” which…you lose. Then you play “Gin Rummy” which…you also lose. “Hearts,” unsurprisingly, you lose, and out of desperation you scan their shelf of board games for _something_ you might have a chance at. “Risk” immediately gets the mental axe, but “Jenga” holds promise.

Except in the end you lose that too, and when the structure crumbles (close, you were _so fucking close_ ) so too does your simmering irritation and you let out a long string of curses before you can even _think_ to control your mouth.

“Wow,” Steve says, audibly impressed. “I haven’t heard something that profane since the army.”

“Thank you,” you say in your kindest voice. “Also– go fuck yourselves.”

They both laugh and you smile because they really feel like your friends now. Asshole friends but, well, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

One day when Bucky is on his own, again without his key, you invite him in and try to regain some of your lost honor.

That’s a mistake.

You: I’m kicking Bucky out  
You: You can collect him on the curb  
You: Just make sure you get here before the garbage trucks do  
Steve: Aw  
Steve: Whatd he win at this time?  
You: Scrabble  
You: You photographic memory fucks  
Bucky: you are the sorest damn loser i ever met in my life  
You: EXCUSE YOU  
You: YOU ARE NOT INVITED  
You: TO THIS CONVERSATION  
You: BEGONE  
Bucky: 9 points

You put in the tableflip emoji and resist the urge to throw your phone at Bucky’s laughing face.

 

You all agree to never again speak of “Ticket to Ride.”

That agreement goes double for “Battlestar Galactica.” However you’re secretly pleased that Steve is apparently a better liar than even Bucky knows. Bucky isn’t so happy but that fucker cheats at “Hearts.” His opinions are null and void.

 

* * *

 

“Hi, can I help y–”

You turn from locking your door to see who Steve is talking to, but he’s looking at you and his jaw _drops_. Even Bucky’s eyes go wide, and you roll your own.

“Yeah, yeah; laugh it up,” you mutter and straighten your outfit. Black tie events aren’t really your forte, but work is paying for drinks and food so you figured why the hell not.

“You look great,” _Bucky_ blurts out.

“Oh…thanks,” you say, caught off guard by his effusive sincerity. They’re both staring at you though and they’re both unreadable in this moment. You clear your throat. “Hey, since you’re here…” You hold out your arms and do a slow turn. When you return to face them you let your arms flop back down. “Do I look okay?”

“Amazing,” Steve says. “Where are you off to?”

“Company party.” You shrug. “It’s not normally my scene but I’m not gonna turn down free food and an open bar.”

“Good thinking.” Steve smiles. “Your date is real lucky.”

You grimace before you can catch it, and Steve’s smile falls. Damn it; now you’re _really_ looking forward to that open bar. “No date, which is nice because I can duck out whenever I want.”

Steve nods rapidly and as you see Bucky hover behind him you try to diffuse the situation with a joke. “Not all of us can be so lucky.”

Either you sound more bitter than you think or Steve just can’t make the distinction right now. Regardless– it backfires. He runs his hand through his hair and looks down and does all but shrink before your very eyes. “I’m so sorry, I–”

“Hey.” You put your hand on his arm and give him a moment to shrug it off. He doesn’t, and when he looks at you you try to give him your very best smile. “I was trying to make a joke. It was probably really bad. I’m sorry.”

“Well…” He frowns but at least he’s not about to roll himself up in the carpet anymore. “I’m still sorry.”

“I’m going to choose to believe you’re apologizing for being stubborn,” you say.

“How dare you.” Steve smiles. “I would _never_ apologize for that.”

He still comes off as tightly wound, so you open your arms. “Hug it out? Just…watch the outfit.”

He chuckles but moves in without hesitation. It’s a good hug; warm, softer than it should be, and yet surprisingly strong. You’re not going to complain though– Bucky truly is a lucky guy. You step back from Steve and are going to tell Bucky so, but you find his arms open.

“I wasn’t a stubborn jerk,” he says slyly. “Do I get a hug?”

You feel a smile take over your face and you move towards him slowly. His hug is different, but just as good– still warm, a little more stiff; straddling the line between tight and loose, like he wants to hold on but he’s afraid. You squeeze once and then let go. They’re both very lucky. This time, though, you take a moment and decide not to say that out loud. You’re sure they already know it anyway.

“Well, I’ll let you guys get to your nice _relaxing_ night in.”  You smooth out your front. “I’m going to drink some booze on the company dime.”

“Be safe,” Steve says. “Call us if you have any trouble.”

You salute him and get on your way.

 

* * *

 

“There you are.”

You jolt upright, trying to pull yourself out of your dozing. It’s still cold and you’re still stuck outside with everyone else while the firefighters do their inspection. You know it’s a big building and they’re doing their job and all that. You just wish they could do it a little _faster_.

“Hey,” you say to Steve and Bucky while they do an inspection of their own. Well not everyone can look so fabulous in the midst of a fire alarm. “You didn’t let Steve near the oven, did you?”

“Very funny,” Steve says. “That was _one time_. And I’ve never set off the building.”

“Hm,” you say suspiciously but leave him be. The cold isn’t terrible but it _is_ uncomfortably distracting.

“Geeze, you gotta be freezing,” Bucky says and shrugs the blanket off his shoulders.

“It’s okay, I’m fi-” Bucky dumps the blanket over your head like you’re an unsightly lamp he’s trying to hide. “ _Dick_.”

“Sorry, what was that?” Bucky teases and Steve laughs.

“Mmf.” You _could_ take the blanket off…but it seems like so much work. Either Bucky or Steve ends up pulling it off your head and draping it over your shoulders. You’re not sure who– it takes too much effort to open your eyes again. “Thanks.”

“It’s a little early to be pulled out of a dead sleep,” Steve says. “Either you’re sick or you’re older than us.”

“Hardy ha–” You yawn. “Har.” You clear your throat and blink yourself awake. “ _Or_ I’ve been doing overtime all week and finally got a chance to crash.” When the fire alarm had gone off you had almost cried. You had most certainly debated the merits of suffocation and/or burning to death, before you crawled out of bed and stumbled down flights of stairs with everyone else.

“Hopefully we’ll go back in soon,” Steve says. “Here, stand between us; we run pretty warm.”

You’re about to protest that the blanket is _more_ than enough and you’re not going to put them out even further but then Bucky and Steve move to stand on either side of you and the warmth melts your tongue. It’s _nice_ ; it’s so damn _nice_. It isn’t like they’re portable space heaters, they’re just… More than just warm, you feel safe, you feel good. You shut your eyes and soak it in.

“Hey.”

You jolt again and lift your head from where you had rested it– on Steve’s arm. And notice that most everyone is inside.

You panic and throw the blanket at Bucky while you try to put at _least_ a foot between you and Steve. “I am _so sorry_!”

“It’s all right!” Steve says, laughing, while Bucky uncovers himself. You back away, not sure why you’re _so_ embarrassed, but feeling an innate need to extricate yourself _right now_.

“Well, um, thanks for the blanket, but I love my bed way more than I love you,” you say. They laugh and you run inside.

Only to come to a sudden stop. The line for the few elevators is ridiculous and the lobby is a cacophony of talking, complaining, laughing adults and babbling and crying children.

You eye the elevators and you eye the stairwell door. Begrudgingly, you go to the stairs and slip inside. Apparently everyone who was willing to walk up has already done so, because it’s completely quiet and that is a massive improvement in and of itself. Technically you’re awake _enough_ , so you resign yourself to a long, slow climb and start on your way.

It only takes you until the second floor to regret your choice, the third floor to regret your life, and the fourth floor to take a break. You’re leaning on the railing and considering just living here now when the first floor door opens and you can see Bucky and Steve come in. They wave at you and you wave back, and they turn to each other to talk. After a few seconds they start arguing about something. Then they start goofing off, shoving at and dodging each other even as they run up the stairs with ease.

They also get so _loud_. “Can not!” and “Can too!” bounce off the walls as they get closer to where you are.

“Do you mind?” you ask and turn to rest your back on the rail. “Some of us are trying to die in peace.”

“Sorry, but _this guy_ –” Bucky jerks his thumb at his boyfriend, “–thinks he can beat me up the stairs.”

Steve shrugs. “Sorry Buck; it’s science.”

“You little– you don’t know _shit_ about science.” Bucky huffs. “I could beat you _handily_.”

“Oh yeah?”

They argue and you zone out. Until you hear your name. “What?”

“I told Steve I could beat him there with you on my back.” Bucky’s full-on grinning. “How about it?”

You squint at how far you’ve come. At how far you have to go. And then at Bucky. “You promise to win?”

“Absolutely.”

It seems like a dumb idea– until you’re on Bucky’s back. Then you feel warm and safe again, and once the race starts the jostling is only just enough to keep you holding on.

“We’re here.”

Bucky’s voice is gentle but you grumble at having to stand on your own power again. “Did you win?”

“By a mile,” Bucky chuckles as you fumble with the lock.

“Because he cheated,” Steve says.

“ _Now_ who’s a sore loser?” But you smile at them. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Bucky says.

“Good night. Go get your beauty sleep,” Steve says. “Not that you need it.”

“We need to play poker. If that’s how you lie I might have a shot.”

You go inside as Steve acts offended and Bucky laughs. Bed calls and you slip into cool sheets, recalling warm bodies and blankets protecting you from the full chill of the air. Even now in the one place you feel safest in the world, it feels like you lack something. Your eyes snap open when you realize.

You _don’t_ love your bed more than you love them.

Shit.

 

The next morning, when you run into Steve and he looks worried and asks if you got any sleep, you force a smile and tell him you’re fine. He responds with a hug.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

 

* * *

 

It has been a long few weeks. Directly after the fire alarm you were too busy to see much of Steve and Bucky and it was a relief. Until they got called out and within a few days you began to worry like you haven’t worried before. Nothing in the news has had anything about the Avengers so they’re either off the planet with Thor (talk about sentences you never thought would cross your mind) or they’re underground. And with every day they’re gone you grow afraid a group of suits are going to randomly show up, take everything out of their apartment, and the next thing you’ll see will be a shitty news headline like “NATION IN MOURNING.”

So when you turn down your hall and see someone standing by their door, your heart leaps and you stumble. It’s just one woman though, in casual clothes, with red hair and, as you approach, a familiar face. She relaxes against the wall between your apartment and theirs and where you feel wary, her expression is impassive.

“Hello,” she says.

“Hi.” You nod at their side. “Are you waiting for…”

She shrugs and pushes off the wall to face you. “You know, I don’t think we’ve met.” She puts her hand out. “Natasha Romanoff.”

You shake her hand and introduce yourself even as you stare at her. She’s very, very familiar. After a few seconds you remember, vividly, seeing her and Bucky talk and laugh as she had left their apartment one day.

“Background check,” you blurt out.

Theoretically, logically, they could (and probably do) have more than one friend going by ‘she.’ Natasha’s slight smile, however, confirms your suspicion. “I heard you were upset about that.”

You shrug. “It’s a little invasive.”

She nods. “I’m not very…” Her smile turns almost brittle. “ _Cuddly_ , you could say. But Steve and Bucky are my friends, and I look out for them in what ways I can.”

You notice there’s no apology, but you already knew you wouldn’t be getting one. Just as you’re about to excuse yourself though, she speaks up again. “They say a lot of good things about you.”

“They…do?” You can admit to yourself, you’re pleased at the thought. “They’re nice guys.”

“That they are,” Natasha says, giving ominous weight to an otherwise innocuous statement. She then turns and walks away. “Be good to them.”

You jerk your head back instinctively. “We…we live next door to each other; we’re just neighbors.”

“For now.”

You don’t know what that means and you’re honestly afraid to ask. You’ve just barely met her and only spoken with her for less than ten minutes; she doesn’t _know_ how you feel. Yet her words and ghost-like vanishing make you feel uneasy even as you step into your own sanctuary.

That’s also when you realize she never actually said ‘yes’ when you asked if she was waiting on Bucky and Steve.

You’re still chewing on that interaction even hours later when you hear a loud thump in the hall and then a curse in Bucky’s voice. Without thinking, you race to open the door and look out.

Steve is still in uniform– you can see it peeking out of his half-zipped jacket, and his hair is a mess. Bucky is even worse, with dirt smudged on his face and holding his left arm protectively as he and Steve bicker softly. “I’m telling you, it’s _fine_ and I can fix it myse-”

Bucky stops and looks right at you. You hesitate, but just going back inside isn’t really an option. Besides, you don’t really feel ashamed for this. You walk towards them and as soon as you can, put your arms around them both. As much as you can– they’re both so big– but they come closer together, which helps, and they hug you too, which…

“We’re okay,” one of them says, and it’s enough.

 

* * *

 

Steve is standing in the hall. He’s a vision even in a white t-shirt and gray lounge pants, (who gave him the _right_ , you wonder with some agony), but his face is pinched into a scowl.

“Are you all right?” you ask.

Like magic, his face relaxes. “I’m fine, it’s just…” Steve waves a hand at his apartment and then runs it through his hair.

This isn’t completely unfamiliar. You look at the door and wonder if Bucky’s okay. Well, Steve would be appropriately concerned if he wasn’t, even if they were fighting. Plus, Steve’s frustration actually makes him look very cute. He’s pouting, and no one is in any real trouble when _pouting_ is involved. “If I’m understanding this right…basically you’re having some problems and you’d like to be alone right now?”

He smiles, despite his own best efforts not to, and nods.

“Do you want to be alone with me?”

He stares at nothing for a few seconds. When he looks at you, he appears so unsure you want to pull him into your arms. You resist. Barely.

“Could I?” he asks.

You open your door and gesture grandly at it. Steve goes in and you follow, darting ahead really quick to pull some clothes (clean, thank goodness) off the couch. “One second,” you say as he sits. You chuck your shit in your room and go make some instant hot chocolate for the both of you. Steve seems content to sit quietly, giving you time to add mountains of whipped cream, before you carefully approach the sofa.

“Are we supposed to be able to drink this?” Steve asks.

“Eventually.” You hand him a spoon and you both work at your dessert-drinks until you’re sipping at warmth.

Steve clears his throat. “Do you want to play a game?” he asks innocently with a smile that is anything but.

“I’d rather sign up for a Pokémon tournament hosted by Jigsaw.” You pretend to flick your drink at him. “It’s pretty telling that you seem to be feeling better when you start acting like an asshole.”

“Seem to be,” Steve repeats.

You shrug and bring your mug to your mouth. “Are you and Bucky okay?”

“Ye-s!” Steve chokes on his drink. “Yes; sorry,” he says and puts his cup down. You, a true hero, do not laugh once as he wipes away errant liquid chocolate. “We’ve had much worse fights,” he says as he settles back in. “We’re just disagreeing about how to solve a…problem.”

“Big problem or little problem?” you ask.

Steve studies you. Like he isn’t sure how much to divulge. “It’s…” He sighs and rubs his face. “It’s a risk. The reward is pretty great, but…”

“…The consequences might make it not worth it?” you guess but he shakes his head.

“It’s absolutely worth it.” Steve stares at you again so intently that you have to _force_ yourself not to look right at his lips as his tongue passes over them. You outta get a medal for this shit. “But Bucky thinks we should act slow.”

“And you want to shove in?”

Steve turns so red that you jerk up, concerned that he might be choking again, except his drink is well and truly gone. “Not _exactly_ ,” he says, his voice in a stranglehold.

“What…oh.” You roll your eyes. “Bad choice of words; fine. And here I thought Bucky was the pervert.”

“Just sometimes,” Steve says with a smile. He regains what little color he has, at least, and clears his throat a few times. “Anyway; I think that being more direct is the best way to handle this.”

“How slow is ‘slow?’” you ask and swirl your drink to mix the chocolate collating at the bottom of the cup.

Steve sighs. “I should…find out,” he admits. “I might have overreacted.”

“Just a _little_.”

You jerk your head to see– Bucky, leaning his back against the door. He glowers and points at you. “ _You_. Lock your door. Always.”

“Sorry.” You put up your hands. “Got distracted; it won't happen again.”

Bucky winces and glances back. “Hey, no, sorry,” you say and stand. “I wasn’t– I’m sorry; that was flippant. Can I…?” You open your arms. Bucky looks at them longingly but ends up shaking his head. “That’s okay,” you say and do what passes for an air hug.

“Just a little?” Steve repeats.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “So maybe I…stuck in a little too much too.”

“It’s all right Buck. I should have been willing to talk it out more,” Steve says. But he doesn’t get up. Interesting. Apparently Steve is _not_ the exception to the ‘no touching’ rule. However the looks they give each other more than make up for whatever contact doesn’t happen: loving, gentle, and expressive in a way that makes you feel like an intruder. It also makes you ache.

You clear your throat. “I want to ask if I should leave you two alone, but I’m also worried for my apartment if I do.”

Bucky laughs and Steve covers his face. They stay a while, and for a guy who starts off no-touching, Bucky sure as hell abandons it as soon as he’s able. You find yourself, some time later, with Bucky up against your side, his face in your shoulder, laughing at something Steve just said. Steve is on your other side and close enough that he can support you as Bucky’s weight naturally pushes you into him. You don’t feel suffocated though. You feel comfortable. Warm. So warm and comfortable that it’s hard to keep your eyes open. You’ve long since given up on trying to follow what they’re talking about– you’re just trying to stay awake.

“You still with us?” Bucky asks, and his voice then encases your name with amusement.

“Mm hm,” you lie through your vocal chords. Consciousness is out of your control now and you drift along in a light doze as they shift and move. You feel weightless but even warmer, with a soft something to lean your head against. Bucky and Steve are muted voices in the background; soothing, like steady rain behind a shut window, or the low conversations that fill a coffee shop.

You relax fully when you feel your mattress and sheets beneath you. Bucky and Steve are still talking but you fade out, not really caring about what they’re talking _about_.

 

Until you wake up the next morning to sunlight and rumpled clothes and _shit_ you _fell asleep_ on them you are the _worst host ever_.

You scramble out of bed and stumble over sleepy legs until you’re standing in front of Steve and Bucky’s door. You knock without hesitation and when it opens, Steve looks mildly surprised to see you.

“I am _so sorry_ ,” you say. “I can’t believe I fell asleep on you; that was so rude and I can’t apologize enough–”

“It’s all right,” Steve says, laughing. He looks you up and down. “Did you just wake up?”

You don’t even want to know. “Gee, how’d you guess?”

He smiles brightly and now that you aren’t panicking your body is alerting you that it is too damn early for this shit. “Do you want to come in and have some coffee?” he asks and stands aside.

You’re about to refuse out of politeness but the smell drifts out like a lure, and there’s Bucky, sitting at the counter, sipping his cup and looking softly sleep-ruffled. And you should apologize to him too; it’s only fair. So you accept Steve’s invitation. Only so you can apologize. Not because Steve is freshly showered and smells like really good aftershave, or because Bucky’s eyes are drooping and a sunbeam is making a halo from the fuzzy outliers of his hair.

“Hey,” you say as you approach him. “I’m sorry I–”

Bucky waves his hand in a very Jedi-like way and he pats the stool next to him. You take it. “Too early for words?” you ask quietly.

He shakes his head. “No need to apologize,” he says, his voice rough enough that you can practically feel it scratch your skin. You make the mistake of looking at his stubble and you shudder, but thankfully he’s turned away and doesn’t notice. “Actually, _I’m_ the one who should apologize.”

“Huh?”

Bucky puts a key in front of you. Your key. Your spare key. You look at him, questioning, but he stares at his drink. “You were sleeping,” he mumbles. “And you can’t lock the deadbolt without a damn key. So I borrowed it.”

“I insisted,” Steve says, putting a steaming mug of heavenly smelling elixir right in front of you. “It was either that, or disable the noise-blocking device so we could keep an ear out.”

“Not in a creepy way,” Bucky adds.

“Guys,” you say. “I know we live in New York but I’m _fine_.” You pocket the key. “But…thanks; that was thoughtful.” And only slightly creepy.

“You’re not mad?” Bucky says and dares to look at you.

“No. I trust you.” You doubt they know how _much_ you trust them. “You were way too nice though; next time just dump me on my ass.”

“Not a chance.” Steve’s smile is…sneaky. Why is he being sneaky? “You were too relaxed. You looked cute.”

You accidentally send a shot of coffee straight to your lungs. “Wha–” You cough a few more times and breathe deep. “I _what_?”

“Is it that hard for you to take a compliment?” Bucky says, laughing.

You shake your head but smile at Steve. “Either you keep getting better at lying, or you need your eyes checked.”

Steve looks at Bucky, who says, “Nope, he’s right. Adorable.”

“Two against one. You lose,” Steve says.

You roll your eyes and bring your cup back to your mouth. “Story of my life since you cheating assholes moved in,” you mutter into the mug before you take a sip. They laugh. You don’t really belong here, in Bucky and Steve’s apartment with the light brightly announcing its arrival and both of them loose and vibrant in ways they can’t be outside that door. You don’t belong here. You don’t.

But you feel like you do. And sometimes it’s nice to pretend.

 

“Here.”

It’s night and you, Bucky, and Steve are sitting around, having drinks. Well, after they insisted you stay for breakfast, it seemed only right for you to invite them over for dinner. Polite. Yes, you are _very_ polite.

So it’s with extreme hesitance that you accept the envelope Steve is holding out. Your name is written on the front in beautiful calligraphy, and you open it to find an invitation.

“Wow,” you say at the fancy script. You frown. “I met Tony Stark for all of five minutes that he probably thinks he hallucinated. Why am I getting invited to his party?”

“Technically it’s a charity event. And he asked us if there was anyone we wanted to invite,” Steve said. “Naturally, we thought of you.”

“Naturally,” you say as a joke, but it comes out weak. They’re fidgeting and barely faking nonchalance. Is this that important?

“Free booze and food, and it’s always good stuff,” Bucky says. He flashes you a smile. “How about it?”

You wave the card and try for a smile of your own. “Okay,” you say and clear your throat. “But I’ve only got the one nice outfit.”

“I know for a fact we wouldn’t mind seeing you in it again.”

The way Steve says that is full, heavy; like the words fill his throat on the way out. All pretense at humor dies and you look from him, to Bucky, to back and forth and back again.

“What…” You have to remind yourself to breathe. It’s hard, with both of them staring at you like that. “What are you saying?”

Steve looks at Bucky, receives a nod, and then approaches you. You don’t pull away, but even when he’s standing _right_ in front of you, Steve moves slower than a snail. He gives you more than enough time to move back, and when he finally presses his lips to yours it feels like something in your chest snaps and you hold onto his shoulders to help support yourself. And if that pulls him closer to you, well…

…neither of you are complaining.

When you pull back to breathe, you’re not surprised to see Bucky there, but that cord in your chest pulls taut again, until you and he kiss as well. Steve doesn’t move away and you don’t realize you have one hand still gripping his shirt until he puts his hand over yours. Your other hand is gripping Bucky’s left shoulder. Normally sensitive about it, he doesn’t seem to even notice right now.

He’s smiling. It’s loose, and goofy, and beautiful. “Is it bad form to kiss before the first date?”

Your own smile grows. “Well…I did invite you both over for dinner.”

Steve laughs. “Does this mean this _is_ the first date?”

It’s more than you could have ever believed would happen. And to think, it only came in response to them having you over for breakfast, which occurred because Steve and Bucky were having a–

Wait a minute.

 _Wait a god-damned minute_.

You go over everything from the night before that you can remember and then you frown at Steve. “Hey. _Hey_.”

He and Bucky both stop smiling. “What?” Steve asks.

You huff. “So I’m a _problem_?”

“Oh.” Steve fights it, but the smile creeps onto his face, regardless. Then he puts his hand under your chin and barely grazes your skin and you lose all capability of thought any higher than _‘guh’_. “I did say the reward was worth it.”

“And uh…” You inhale sharply when he tilts your face up. “What reward would that be?”

 

Steve and Bucky don’t leave for another hour and it’s a good thing they’re just next door, with how unsteady they are. The parting is reluctant on both sides, but Steve and Bucky are still a little proper (just a little, thankfully) and you want to get a good night’s sleep. You’re going shopping tomorrow– it’s your turn to surprise _them_.

You’ll show Steve what a _problem_ is.


End file.
